Once Upon A Me
by Milaya Milen Zeal
Summary: Yesterday's me in the mirror, looks an awful lot like today's me. But nobody ever listens to me, so my only friend is my face buried in my knees. Soaked in warm tears, I say bye-bye, to the old me, the "once upon a me". Neku/Joshua Neku   seme


**_Once Upon A Me_**

**Fandom: **The World Ends With You (TWEWY)

**Pairing: **Neku/Joshua

**Setting: **Pre-Game & Post-Game

* * *

><p>A face stares absently in the mirror, watching for anything that might have changed. But nothing has changed. The face in the mirror is the same as the one from last night, and the day before that, too. Finally, he just accepts that he is not just going to change like he has been hoping for.<p>

Everyone says that if he wants to have friends, he has to change his attitude, but he does not understand why he is the one who has to change. Can another not change then? Is he the only one who has to change?

His mother and father never say he has to change, but that does not say much, as they are always too busy shouting at each other. About what, he does not know and does not care. He cannot remember once in his thirteen years that his mother and father were ever nice to each other. Even when they see him, while they will be nice for him, they will still be angry at each other.

They will pretend to listen, but it is all pretend; they are always glaring at each other, ready for round whichever-they-are-at-right-now.

So he has never told them that his only friend was killed by him a week ago.

They say it is not his fault, but he knows better, despite being only thirteen.

* * *

><p><em>Let's get together for a while, if you please<br>I'll sing this song for a while (?), with my back to you  
>Yesterday's me in the mirror<br>Looks an awful lot like today's me_

* * *

><p>There are times that he sits alone, in his room, near the river, or even near the dog statue near the station, his face buried in his knees to hide his tears. It is his only friend, for no one else listens to him, or understands him. He does not understand them in return, and slowly he comes to the single understanding that he does not need people to understand him, and he does not want to understand others in turn.<p>

He manages to gather enough money to buy himself a set of purple headphones and a white music player, and he spends all his time listening to music. He starts to cut class, starts to wander at night, staying out of the house until dawn, all to avoid contact. He hisses at them to get out of his way because they are blocking his view and he wants them to shut up and stop talking and to just go away and stay away.

He does not understand others, and he does not want to, despite how his eyes are crying out for someone to come to him and give him a warm, gentle hug to wash those tears away.

* * *

><p><em>It's been sad<br>It's been distressing  
>It's been painful<br>But nobody ever listens to me  
>So my only friend is my face buried in my knees<em>

* * *

><p>Those tears reach someone, but he does not know of that. They reach someone who has the absolute control over his home, but not over his world, and this someone cannot reach out to make everything all right again. That someone cannot walk up to him and hug him, soothe away his tears and his fears, telling him that everything will be fine and that everything will work out in the end as long as he does not give up on the worlds of others.<p>

But those words cannot reach him, because they live in two different worlds, and thus while he can be seen, he cannot see in return. And that is why his tears flow so easy when he thinks he is alone. Because he believes that one can see, he allows them to fall, unknowing of the person watching and wishing he could stop the flood of tears, and wishing so feverishly that he could say that a heart is only something others can see…

* * *

><p><em>Tears stream down my face<br>And they reach someone wherever they are  
>"Hey don't you know?<br>"The heart is something…  
>"That only others can see!"<em>

* * *

><p>The memory of the bullet through his chest is still so close to him now, as he opens his eyes blearily, expecting to see the streets and the people that walk about him again without actually seeing him. But instead he is staring at a ceiling of pure white that makes his eyes hurt. It is too bright, way too bright, and he tries to say so, but his voice is dry and raspy.<p>

He is both thirsty and very hungry he realizes then.

He does not know what kind of sound he makes, but it attracts attention from someone in the room, who lets out a surprised gasp and runs out, shouting something about "he's awake he's awake" or something similar.

When his eyes focus again, it is to see two faces of people he had not seen or spoken to in nearly a year, maybe longer, but that he still remembered very well because he had known them since the day he was born.

But he soon realizes that something is different… but he cannot be sure what.

"…mom…? …dad…?"

His voice sounds strained, tired, but they look so happy that he is talking, his mother is almost about to cry and even his father looks like he is holding back his tears. They start talking, asking him if he is feeling all right, which he obviously does not, but they ask anyway, who the person was who shot him, which is a surprise because he thought it had all been a dream by now, and then they start telling him that everything will be all right.

…and then he understands what is different…

"…you're not fighting…" he manages to get out, his surprise nearly making him choke on his own words.

They stop talking in surprise, before they glance at each other briefly, and he is almost afraid the moment has passed and they will start to fight again, as they do every time, but then his father turns to him.

"Of course not…" his father says. "How could we? How could we fight when you're here like this?"

His mother comes forward and takes his hand. "You're our son… you're more important to us than anything! Who cares about a petty squabble or two?"

He tries to say something, but he finds that he cannot, because the entire conversation right now seems almost like a dream. Is he dreaming…? Is he…? He really does not know… but… he finds himself hoping desperately that this is real.

"…mom… dad…"

He tries to speak, tries to raise his hands and get up to reach out, to ensure he is not dreaming, to ensure that maybe, just maybe, his world can change a little bit for the better. His parents meet his efforts halfway, they pull him up carefully, pull him close and swear to him to never let him go as he tries to hug them back, as tears sting in his eyes before they fall as he begins to sob. The fear that it is all but a dream will not leave him and he silently prays that if it is indeed nothing more than a dream, to never let him wake again.

* * *

><p><em>Now as I head toward tomorrow<br>Hands wave, yelling "see you later!"  
>At my back comes a "good luck!"<br>All in voices I've heard before_

* * *

><p>"Neku! Wait up!"<p>

"Gotta be faster if you wanna catch me!"

He is laughing now as he runs along the asphalt, the girl running after him whining about how he is going too fast and yet she is almost easily keeping up while holding a large, black stuffed animal close to her, a big happy grin on her own face. She is not angry that he is running ahead of her, and he knows that, since they are just playing around, since they are friends and friends can make fun of one another without hurting the feelings of the other.

His days of sitting alone and crying to no one but himself have ended, his days of wishing for someone to come and hug him are over, and his new days as a friend to others have only just begun, as he looked back and waved farewell to the him of yesterday, his "once upon a me".

* * *

><p><em>And then I'm off, running on the asphalt<br>Soaked in warm tears  
>So I say bye-bye<br>To the old me, the "once upon a me"_

* * *

><p>His friend is teaching him how to ride a skateboard, but it is not as easy as it is made to look, and he has fallen onto his bum too many times to keep count. Kind of silly, they have all that protection, but nothing for your ass if you fall on it. Well, it is at least good for a few laughs, and thankfully people have at least some fat stored there to allow the fall to not hurt at much as it should.<p>

And he does not notice how he is being watched by the person who had been watching him all along, wishing that they could help in any way, shape, or form, and he cannot notice how that person is watching how his heart is glittering in happiness when he spends his time with the friends he has made, when he laughs and actually means it, when his parents now actually talk to him without ever arguing again, or when he sleeps peacefully with his dreams of a better tomorrow.

* * *

><p><em>Let's get together for a long while, if you please<br>Now that I'm being a bit more positive  
>Can you see my heart glittering?<em>

* * *

><p>They are sitting in the shop, in a stall, eating ramen together and talking, talking about how they had met and what they had lost that day, the things they gained and everything about their past from before they ever met. It feels great, since there are now so many of them, it makes him feel like he has somehow managed to change himself, but also them, and this knowledge means so much to him, much more than he actually knows.<p>

* * *

><p><em>Was it sad?<br>Was it distressing?  
>It was painful<br>But don't ever say nobody's listening  
>After all, we're friends<em>

* * *

><p>But something is off, and he does not know what, but it is almost as though someone is crying, as though there is someone else now who has the tears that stream down their face and is wishing so desperately for someone to hug them. He does not know who it is, but he feels uncomfortable in knowing that there is someone who is crying with him not being able to do anything. Before then, he would have never bothered, but the him of today was different from the him of yesterday, and he wanted to call out and say that he would always be watching over the person's heart if it meant cheering them up.<p>

* * *

><p><em>Tears stream down a face<br>And they fall on the ears of today's me  
>"Hey it's all right!<br>"I'm always watching after your heart!"_

* * *

><p>They go their own way after a day full of fun, and he finds himself running down the streets, heading for tomorrow as his friends yell a "see you later!" before they lose sight of him, and he is laughing and grinning as he runs as fast as his feet can carry him.<p>

* * *

><p><em>Now as you head toward tomorrow<br>Hands wave, yelling "see you later!"  
>At your back comes a "good luck!"<br>All in voices you've heard before_

* * *

><p>He has never felt more alive than he has before, as he runs across the asphalt and hurries home, his heart feeling like a bright light that can that can show him the way to wherever he wants to go, his "once upon a me" left far behind him.<p>

* * *

><p><em>And then you're off running<br>With a heart gleaming bright  
>So say bye-bye<br>To the old me, the "once upon a me"_

* * *

><p>He was meeting his friends that particular day, when he sees something he had never expected to see again, something he had had half a mind about forgetting but never got around to doing. He pulls out his phone, texts his friends, saying he will be later and that he has something really urgent to deal with real quick before meeting them, and then he runs, runs after what he had seen without hitting anyone, which is a feat in and of itself in this city. The thing, or person, to be perfectly honest, is on the phone, and does not notice him, as he hurries up behind him, as a hand comes up, reaching up as he comes within range.<p>

And then the ugly orange contraption is trapped in his fingers and pulled from the other's fingers before they have the chance to notice that someone else has come up behind them. When they turn around, he has to phone to his ear and is saying: "Sorry, you have just been disconnected," before he clicks the phone shut.

"What the-Neku? When did… how… Neku… give me that back," they say after a moment longer, their voice similar to a snarl as they hold out one slim hand.

"Hmm… nope," he says with a small shrug, his hands on his hips and a slightly bored look on his face, not seeming to care for the other's building rage.

"Give me my phone right now, or I'll erase you!" they threaten finally, and he is tempted to give in, but no, he waited too long for this and there are still things that must be said that have been left unsaid since the last time he and they had last seen each other.

"You'll have to catch me first!" he says with a laugh, and immediately spins around and bolts.

"NEKU!" they shout, a mix of alarm and panic and anger, before they kick off against the ground with a cry of frustration in hot pursuit of him, but he does not care and only laughs as he runs and runs, as fast as he can as though the devil himself was chasing him down.

He manages to avoid hitting anyone as he goes, and also manages to keep spinning out of their way to avoid capture as he leads them further and further down the city's streets and toward his destination, ignoring the angered shouts that demand of him to return the disgusting contraption that is such a bright orange that it often hurts his eyes, ignoring also as it rings and shakes in his hand.

"Run run run as fast as you can! You can't catch me; I'm a gingerbread man!" he laughs, never having felt in such a hysterical mood ever before, and he has never seen such an angry expression on their face either, which only makes this entire situation more and more hysterical to him as he laughs and laughs until he is afraid his lungs will pop.

They blink when he shouts those words, allow a short chuckle before increasing their pace and trying once more to catch him with everything they have, but the ice was broken now and they, too, are laughing as they follow him through the crowded streets, laughing so hard and loud that people start to stare, but neither he or they really care and just run.

* * *

><p><em>Let's get together for a little while longer, if you please<br>When I looked like I might cry a little  
>Everyone supported me<br>So this time I'll give them my aid_

* * *

><p>He finally reaches the meeting place where his friends are waiting, and he quickly ducks behind them, still laughing and finding that he is unable to stop, making his friends wonder in confusion what is wrong with him, until they show up and they once again start demanding, amidst their gasping breath, for the return of their phone, but he still refuses. His friends are a little confused, he knows, but even his friends cannot help but laugh as he runs in circles around him while trying to dodge them as they come for him, aiming to snatch their phone back from him but never succeeding.<p>

The situation is so strange, and he and they have been running and laughing for long enough already, and finally everyone has simply collapsed to the ground in a fit of laughter, chuckles and giggles. After a little longer, everyone moves into the shop where he has agreed to meet his friends to get something to eat and something to drink to rebuild the energy they have just spent running and laughing.

But as he looks over to them, he cannot help but notice something off about their expression, as though they were about to cry, like they did not want to be there and just wanted to get out of there and never have to deal with any of this again. Sometimes he catches them watching him, and he wonders if it may be possible; are they the one who has been watching him? The one who has been crying silent tears in his stead and waiting for that one person to hug them and make everything all better again?

He eats quietly and occasionally looks over, but he remains quiet and decides to wait until after.

* * *

><p><em>It was sad<br>It was distressing  
>It was painful<br>But you were always watching  
>You were always listening<br>And now it's my turn_

* * *

><p>"Hey… are you alright?"<p>

He asks once his friends have left and it is just him and them, and they look confused, before they sigh dramatically and twirl one finger in their hair as they answer.

"Yes, Neku. I'm just fine, though I'll be better once you've returned my phone."

"…You're lying."

"Hm?"

"Give it up, Joshua. You look like you're about to cry."

"…!"

They don't answer, even though they look like they are about to, but more so than that, his eyes have this look in them that he recognizes immediately, having seen that exact same look in the mirror so many times when he was staring at his own reflection. It is a look that says they want to cry on someone's, anyone's, shoulder and for that person to say that everything is going to be just fine and that that someone is watching out for them.

"Sigh… you're looking too deeply into this, Nek-ah?"

They stop halfway through with his name, no doubt surprised over what has just happened, and any other day he would also be surprised at what he has just done, but he cannot be bothered right now. He just stays put with his arms wrapped tightly around them, one hand on their back and the other on their head, and he does not speak, merely holds them, waiting.

It takes longer than he has expected it to take, but after what feels like almost 10 minutes, they finally move, slowly and shakily, as though afraid that this is just a dream that is going to pop and disappear the moment they do anything. Their hands slowly come to rest on his back, and they start breathing heavier, but he hears what it entails and does not look at all surprised when they drop their head upon his shoulder and cry. He does not mind, and just rubs their back and runs his hand through their hair, as he whispers a quiet "it's all right".

* * *

><p><em>Tears stream down your face<br>And drowning in a sea of them  
>You splash and flail<br>So for you  
>I'll chant the magic words:<br>A buoy for the heart, an "it's all right"_

* * *

><p>It is dark now, and he has taken them along after they manage to stop crying for long enough to not make a scene. He holds them by the hand as he walks, and they really do not seem to mind much, they just follow without a word, blindly trusting him as he trusts them in return. He and they continue walking quietly, and finally they come to the place where he was sure he had lost them the first time, before he had come to know the truth about them and was sure that he and they had actually been friends.<p>

Before he learned that they were the one to pull the trigger and bury a bullet into his heart.

But he chooses to not remember that, for he feels that it no longer holds that much significance, or maybe it holds so much significance that he cannot put it into words how much it truly means. It is either one of those two, but he cannot for the life of him decide which one it really is, or maybe there is another reason as to why he chooses to not bring it up.

He briefly stands by the edge, looking down to the people far down below and he wonders if this is how they usually look down upon the world, upon the city that is his home and their entire life, and he wonders if those people down below realize just how small and insignificant they must be to the person who stands behind him. He leans forward a little forward to try and follow a red car that whooshed by just then, a sports car, he is sure of it, it was going _that_ fast, when he finds himself pulled back and against them, away from the railing as though they were afraid he might tip over the edge and fall and kill himself.

"…I'm not gonna fall, Josh."

"Hmm… I know, _dear_." He hears a familiar giggle, that is all he can call it, because there is no way that that is a chuckle. "I just felt like hugging you for once."

But he knows the truth; he feels their body shaking, and their hands are gripping their own wrists in order to secure the hold they have on him, preventing him from stepping out of the light, but insistent hold. That is why he does not respond to the quip or the nickname that he loathes to hear so much, because he knows now that there is more about them than he originally thought.

Much, much more…

Slowly, he wriggles in their hold and turns his body around to face them. They are about the same height as he is, but they are so different from each other that he is not sure if there is anything that is really alike between him and them.

But he gives one look to the forlorn, sad, sad eyes of amethyst, and he feels as though he is looking in the mirror, gazing back to his own reflection from so long ago, even if the hair is silken and silver instead of spiky and red and the features are slightly rounder instead of sharp and a bit pointy.

He does not remember who moved first then, but it does not matter he soon determines, and he focuses solely on moving his mouth against theirs, placing his hands on their hips to keep them close. He has never done this before; has never cared enough to know what he wants or how to move, but somehow he just knows and he moves them down, down to the floor, pushing them slowly to rest upon the ground, his and their mouths separating for a moment as they look at each other with a quiet, wordless understanding.

Without fully knowing just what he is really doing, he moves forward again, and they hiss out as his mouth moves all over their neck, wriggling, uncomfortable and trying to move away, but he keeps them there, refusing to let them up, his fingers reaching out and undoing the buttons of his shirt, one by one by one until he can push the material aside and reach everything that it had once hidden from him.

They gasp and pant and wheeze but they do not say to him that he should stop, and so he does not; he moves further down, licking, sucking, tasting and enjoying them to his heart's content, for they taste of something that he feels is not of this world, and perhaps he is more right than he really believes. His hands move lower still and he works on that final button that he has skipped earlier because it is actually part of another article of clothing, that is now as much in the way as the shirt was a moment ago. He whispers to them, tells them to move a little, and they do, using their hands for some extra leverage as their legs shake and he moves the annoying article out of the way, taking away the shoes as well, but leaves the socks on; those can stay, for now, since those are not in the way.

Before he moves back to them, he moves reaches for the edge of his shirt and pulls it off over his own head, tossing it to the side somewhere to be momentarily forgotten, and moved back to connect his mouth to theirs again. Their socked feet kind of tickle as they move them past the lower half of his legs, since those are still bare, but he does not mind too much and moves his hand further down.

They inhale sharply and pull away, their face flushed red so much that their ears are turning the same color, and he wonders, and then moves forward to lick on one of their ears, and is rewarded with a choked cry. As he takes the lobe into his mouth, sucking and licking, he starts to move his hand and they whimper, body shaking as they try to keep quiet; anyone can just show up, anyone can step onto the roof at any time, after all, so this should not be the place to do this, but at the same time, that thought makes him bolder, and his other hand reaches down and flicks one finger across the sensitive spot he finds, and they gasp, trying to pull their legs together, but he is in between, so it does not work as they had hoped.

He does not stop, he keeps going, as if being driven forward by something or someone, and he wonders if they are doing this, somehow, if they have tricked him into doing this, into starting this, but surely, if it was them, it would have been him on his back upon the uncomfortable floor, would it have not?

His fingers then touch something and loud scream comes from their mouth that has them shove a fist into their mouth to stifle the sound, eyes wide in surprise at the sound that has just come from his own throat, but he moves the fist away.

"I want to hear you…"

His fingers touch the spot again and again and they cry out, though not as loudly as before, but that is okay. After a while, he moves his fingers away and moves aside the last part of his own clothes, and then he moves forward carefully and then he _moves_ and they cry and scream and scratch at his back and beg and plead and shout at him to stop to keep going to never let it end to make it stop to never ever ever let him go to stay forever and ever. His back feels like it is bleeding, but that is fine and he moves, slowly and then faster and harder and faster and even harder and they are screaming now, no longer in pain as his body feels like it is on fire and his hair sticks to his face from the sweat, and their hair is splayed across the ground and he cannot help but bury his hands into it, tugging and caressing and pulling them up to meet his mouth while never stopping. They groan and whine into his mouth and he cannot bring himself to pull away, but he must for he still needs to breathe but he still does not stop moving.

He can vaguely make out the hundreds upon thousands of voices that are filtered through the building but he cannot be bothered to care at that point.

* * *

><p><em>Now as I head toward tomorrow with you<br>Toward a tomorrow where we hold hands  
>I'm hugged from behind<br>As I hear countless voices_

* * *

><p>He never wants it to stop, but there is no way he can keep this up forever even if he wished for it, and they are whispering and crying and saying that he cannot hold on for much longer, and he replies that he knows and that it is okay. They choke on a cry when it happens and he gives a hiss that is followed by a groan that makes his throat hurt and then he moves forward and claims their mouth again, not understanding why he is crying, or why they are, in fact.<p>

When he moves back, they look up at him, still a few tears coming from their eyes, but they smile slowly, not a smirk like he's seen so often, but an honest to god smile that makes him smile right back and once more move forward to cover their mouth.

He does not speak… they do not speak… but they both now look back and wave a final farewell…

To their "once upon a me".

* * *

><p><em>And then we burst into tears, you and me<br>But showed each other warm smiles  
>So I say bye-bye<br>To the old me, the "once upon a me"_

* * *

><p><strong>My second Vocaloid-song TWEWY story, this time to the song "<strong>Once Upon A Me**".**

**The original title, however, actually means, literally translated, "**Long, Long Ago Today's Me**" or "**Me As I Was Many Years Ago Today**". The first one is how the Japanese usually start to tell a fairy tale, and thus the song's English name is more simply called "**Once Upon A Me**".**

**This was actually an experiment on a different writing style for me, as none of the characters are ever mentioned by name other than during times when they actually talk. I might make more stories like this, but right now, I'm not too sure.**


End file.
